


The Little Things

by Lavender_and_Vanilla



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Acrophobia, Arachnophobia, Cleaning Up, Comfort, Domestic Fluff, Established Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Established Relationship, Feet, Fluff, Losing Things, Love, M/M, Phobias, health scare, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-21
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2019-06-14 00:47:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15377037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lavender_and_Vanilla/pseuds/Lavender_and_Vanilla
Summary: Often times it is the little things that let you know you are loved.





	1. Feet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BourbonNeat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BourbonNeat/gifts).



> This is for BourbonNeat who won the bid on my offer of 5 short fics for the Rupert Graves Birthday Auction. They said they liked my domestic established Mystrade and wanted a series of pieces that were connected. Each chapter contains two small stories related to the title that (hopefully) shows the little things that Mycroft and Greg do for each other revealing their deep and abiding love for one another. Some may be humorous and some may be a bit sappy. None of them are angsty. Enjoy!

“Are you sure?”

 

“Yep.”

 

Mycroft moved a bit closer to Greg.

 

“C’mere,” Greg cajoled.

 

“But…”

 

“But what? Have your feet somehow managed to get colder? I seriously doubt that’s possible. Only a penguin could have colder feet… Ah!!”

 

Mycroft slipped his feet between Greg’s warm calves. He sighed contentedly as Greg mumbled curses under his breath. He shifted his feet and wriggled his toes. “Finally warm,” he mumbled.

 

“I take it back; penguins can’t possibly have colder feet.” Mycroft ignored Greg. “Are you wearing the socks I gave you?”

 

“I wore the last clean pair yesterday.”

 

“That’ll teach me to put off doing laundry." Mycroft hummed in agreement. "I’ll have to buy you more for your birthday.”

 

Mycroft cuddled closer. “Must I wait?”

 

* * *

 

 

“How did you know?” Greg groaned as Mycroft pressed his thumb along the arch of his foot.

 

“Know what?” Mycroft gently pulled on each toe.

 

“I needed a foot massage.” Greg gazed down at Mycroft sitting cross-legged on the kitchen floor tending to his sore and swollen feet.

 

“I could see it in your gait.” Mycroft didn’t look up from his task. He finished with one foot placing a soft shearling lined slipper on it. He lifted the other from its Epsom salt soak to dry it with the towel in his lap.

 

“You watching me on CCTV again?”

 

“Perhaps.” Mycroft began to rub peppermint lotion over Greg’s tender sole.

 

Greg snorted. “Whatever. If it gets me a foot rub like this I don’t care.”


	2. Linens

“Did you at least get something to eat?”

 

“I had a protein bar with me.”

 

“I meant a proper meal.”

 

“I’ll have breakfast in the morning. It’s too late now.”

 

“I hope you’ll sleep. You sound knackered.”

 

“Likely not, but I’ll try.”

 

“Maybe it won’t be so bad. I should let you go. G’night love.”

 

“Good night Gregory.”

 

“I love you.”

 

“I love you too.”

 

Mycroft hung up and contemplated the large empty bed. Sighing, he moved over to his suitcase. He put away his neatly folded shirts, his socks and his pants. He hung up his ties with his suits in the closet. Suspenders, arm garters, and pocket squares also went into a drawer. Finally he placed his pajamas and toiletries on the bed.

 

As he unfolded his pajamas to put them on Mycroft found a piece of fabric hidden between his pajama top and bottoms. Puzzled he pulled it out. It was a pillowcase from one of their sheet sets. In fact from the sheet set that had been their bed when he last slept at home.

 

He pressed the cloth to his face. There he smelled Greg’s shampoo and aftershave and a hint of sweat. As he changed out the pillowcase of one of the hotel pillows, he realized that Greg was likely right. Sleeping wouldn’t be so bad.

 

* * *

 

 

It was one of the worst parts about his job, delivering the news of a loved one’s death. Greg wished he still smoked at times like these. As he walked to his car he jammed his hands in his coat pockets and felt for his remaining handkerchief. He rubbed the finely woven fabric between his fingers, taking comfort in the silky feel of the cloth. When he was seated in the car he got out his mobile.

 

* Would you tell the hankie fairy I lost another one today –GL *

           

* Oh dear that’s the third one this week. –MH *

 

* On the trail of a serial killer. –GL *

 

* My condolences to the family. –MH *

 

Mycroft began putting handkerchiefs in Greg’s coat pocket after arriving at a crime scene and finding Greg sniffling from the cold. “One can’t have the investigating officer sounding like a seven-year old boy with a cold”, he admonished gently.

 

A second handkerchief joined the first when Greg confessed he frequently gave his away to distraught family or friends of the victim. “Remember to take care of yourself, my dear,” Mycroft had murmured. The next day Greg found two handkerchiefs in his pocket.


	3. Phobias

Greg hung back as they approached the elevators. “Can we take the stairs?”

 

“Twenty-seven flights? What’s wrong with the lift?”

 

“Well, it’s… um… glass.”

 

“Ah.” Mycroft gazed up at the elevators moving up and down clearly visible through the transparent shaft.

 

“I’ll be fine once we’re up there, promise. I’ll talk to the other guests, have a few drinks and stay away from the windows. But I can’t get on that elevator.” Greg looked at Mycroft, pleading.

 

“Do you trust me?”

 

“Yes, I just don’t trust the lift.”

 

Mycroft took Greg’s hand as he pressed the call button.

 

“My…” Greg whined.

 

“Shh… It’ll be fine.”

 

The doors opened and Mycroft gently ushered Greg into the space, pressing the button for the penthouse. Greg whimpered. Mycroft wrapped an arm around his partner’s waist. Another couple signaled across the lobby to hold the elevator. Mycroft pushed the button to close the elevator doors and looked innocently chagrinned as the doors closed before the other couple arrived.

 

Greg missed it all having shut his eyes. As the elevator started up he began to recite the 23rdpsalm.

 

Mycroft pulled Greg close softly kissing him and encouraging Greg to kiss back. The floors flashed by and the ground moved further away, but Greg only knew the strong hands on his waist and the soft lips on his mouth.

 

The lift slowed and Mycroft disengaged just as the doors opened directly on to a large, crowded function room. Greg blinked open his eyes and gazed at Mycroft.

 

“Is it over?”

 

“It’s over.” Mycroft guided Greg off and into the party.

 

* * *

 

 

Mycroft caught a tiny movement out of the corner of his eye. He marked his place in his book and lowered his reading glasses. He stared in the direction of the detected movement. A dark spot sat high on the wall. Mycroft watched it intently. Then the spot started to move.

 

“Gregory!” Mycroft swatted his bedmate with his book. “Wake up! There’s a situation.”

 

“Huh? Ow!”

 

“We have a situation.” Mycroft hissed.

 

“Sherlock?” Greg groggily asked.

 

“No, not that kind of situation. Look there.” Mycroft cringed as the spot moved down the wall with purpose.

 

Greg sat up and put on his glasses. “Oh I see. Hang on.” He got out of bed and stretched.

 

“Hurry!” Mycroft squeaked.

 

“Okay, okay.” Greg went to the bathroom and emerged with their Critter Catcher™. He easily nabbed the interloper. “Want to see?” Greg swung around with the trap, inspecting the wriggling creature within the fibers.

 

“No!” Mycroft drew back and pulled the duvet to his chin.

 

Greg shrugged. He left the bedroom muttering to the spider how it knew better and it should spread the word to stay out.

 

“Is it gone?” Mycroft asked when Greg returned.

 

“Yep. I left it on the front step. If it’s still there in the morning you can stomp it flat for impudence.”

 

“Thank you.” Mycroft murmured as Greg settled back into their bed.

 

“Anytime love.”


	4. Sickness and Health

“You didn’t need to come with me.” Greg tossed aside the out of date men’s magazine he’d been absently paging through.

 

“Yes, I did.” Mycroft didn’t look up from his notebook.

 

Greg shifted nervously in the hard chair, and then sighed. “I’m sure you had better things to do.”

 

“No, I didn’t.” Mycroft replied patiently.

 

They sat in silence; the only sound was Mycroft’s pencil scratching across the paper.

 

“What are you drawing?”

 

“What am I always drawing?”

 

Greg snorted. “In a doctor’s office?”

 

“It’s a urologist’s office. I thought the subject perfectly appropriate.” Mycroft showed Greg his sketch. “There’s something not quite right, though.”

 

Greg studied the picture. “It needs come.”

 

“Hm… I think you’re right.” Mycroft amended his drawing. “How’s that?”

 

Greg giggled at the geyser now erupting from the page.

 

Mycroft began to chuckle as well.

 

Greg tipped back his head as the laughter spilled out and Mycroft joined him. They laughed until their sides ached. Gasping for breath Greg leaned his head on Mycroft’s shoulder. They sighed as the fit faded.

 

Mycroft wrapped an arm around Greg and kissed the top of Greg’s head.

 

“Thank you.” Greg murmured.

 

* * *

 

“What the hell happened to you? You’re soaked.”

 

“C-c-car broke d-d-down.” Mycroft’s teeth chattered and he shivered as he peeled off his coat. “T-too windy for m-m-my umbrella.”

 

Greg took the coat and hung it in the downstairs bath where it could drip on the tiling. Mycroft toed off his shoes. Greg winced at the sight of Mycroft’s wet socks.

 

“It was only a f-f-few blocks. I didn’t—“ A sudden, violent sneeze rocked Mycroft’s body.

 

“Bless you! Upstairs now. Hot shower you.”

 

Snifflng, Mycroft headed to their en suite.

 

A half hour later a much less bedraggled and much warmer Mycroft Holmes appeared in the kitchen.

 

Greg smiled, “That’s better, yeah? I see you remembered the socks.” He nodded to the thick grey wool socks on Mycroft’s long feet.

 

“You would have sent me back for them if I hadn't.”

 

“Yep.” Greg handed Mycroft a mug of tea. “Ready for a hot meal?”

 

“I had a large lunch.”

 

“You need comfort food.” Greg nudged Mycroft toward the table. As Mycroft sat Greg brought over bowl of creamy tomato soup and a plate of cheese toasties.

 

“I don't need much.”

 

Greg came back to the table with his own bowl of soup and mug of tea. “Really? After getting chilled, like you were, a hot filling meal is required.”

 

“Required?” Mycroft sipped his tea.

 

“That’s what Gram always said.” Greg took a healthy bite of his hot sandwich. Cheese strings trailed from the bread. Greg hummed appreciatively.

 

Mycroft watched and shrugged. He picked up a sandwich half. “I will defer to your Gram.”

 

“Smart man." Greg grinned as Mycroft tucked into his meal. "Gram would have liked you.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise, no worries. Biopsies were normal. Greg was started on tamsulosin and now only gets up once in the night to use the loo.


	5. Careless

“Damn it! It was here!” Greg rubbed the back of his head, making his hair stand on end. “I swear it.”

 

“Can I help?” Mycroft offered from the door of Greg’s study. The room was its usual disorganized mess. Mycroft had no idea how the man worked in such a state.

 

“You don’t happen to know what I did with my notebook?”

 

“The pocket sized one you take case notes in?”

 

“Yeah. I just had it. I was transcribing notes and thought I’d like a coffee. When I got back it was gone.” Greg picked up a pile of newspapers from his desk and tossed them on the floor.

 

Mycroft raised his eyebrows.

 

“Damn brownies took it.” Greg muttered as he rooted through a drawer.

 

“Did you take it with you to the kitchen?”

 

“No. Why would I do that?” Greg scoffed. He bent down to look under the desk.

 

“Have you looked?” Mycroft asked patiently.

 

“No.” Greg said as he stood back up.

 

“Well?”

 

Greg threw his hands up in the air. “There’s no point looking in the kitchen,” he huffed. He brushed up against Mycroft as he stomped off to the kitchen.

 

As he watched Greg march off, Mycroft suppressed a smile and followed.

 

“See?” Greg stood glowering in the kitchen. His arms were folded across his chest. The countertops were clear except for a few spoons and the recently used French press.

 

“Did you check the refrigerator?” Mycroft suggested knowing Greg took milk in his coffee. He moved the spoons into the sink to be washed.

 

Greg rolled his eyes. He spun around and opened the fridge. “Not there,” he announced flatly and closed the door. Greg turned around to see Mycroft standing behind him holding his notebook.

 

“You found it!” Greg gleefully snatched the book. “Where was it?” His eyes darted around the room, seeking the spot he’d missed.

 

“Your back pocket.” Mycroft answered with a smirk.

 

* * *

 

 

Greg surveyed the bathroom and shook his head. Towels lay crumpled on the floor. Toothpaste scum and hair decorated the bowl of the sink. Various bits from Mycroft’s fancy electric grooming tool were scattered across the countertop mixed along the various products and their lids. Greg was fairly sure the toilet needed to be flushed.

 

Adjusting his cufflinks Mycroft came up behind Greg. “I shouldn’t be out too late…” He trailed off as he looked at the disaster zone that was their en suite. “Oh dear.”

 

Greg hummed in agreement as he picked up a dripping flannel from the floor near the shower and tossed it in the sink.

 

“I’ll tidy it up when I get back.” Mycroft promised anxiously. “You can always use the guest bath if needed.”

 

Greg turned and kissed Mycroft’s smooth cheek. “Go. I’ll take care of it.”

 

“But—“

 

“Nope. You’ve got Russians to schmooze.”

 

“I—“

 

Greg gently pushed Mycroft back out of the room. “Go on. You’ll be late.”

 

“I love you.” Mycroft kissed Greg soundly and hurried off.

 

“Damn straight you do.” Greg murmured.


End file.
